


Every Reason

by kat_snow2613



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 12:45:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8490388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_snow2613/pseuds/kat_snow2613
Summary: It had been three days since Howland Reed had arrived at Winterfell.Jon had not left his chamber in three days.





	

Sansa was pacing outside of Jon’s chamber.

It had been three days since Howland Reed had arrived.

Jon had not left his chamber in three days.

Sansa inclined her head towards the door, listening. She wasn’t sure what she expected to hear. It didn’t matter, as there was nothing but silence.

Finally, she steeled herself. She knocked on the door. “Your Grace?” she called.

No response.

“Jon?” she called, louder.

No response. Since Reed had arrived, Sansa had laid in bed at night mulling over his news. Jon was a Targaryen. Jon was her cousin. It made perfect sense, and no sense at all, all at the same time. She was troubled over what to do next, but more so than anything, she longed to see him. 

“Jon, I’m coming in,” she warned, and entered.

It was dark inside the room, the curtains drawn and the fire low. Her eyes adjusted and she found the King in the North slumped in front of the fireplace, underneath a pile of furs, staring at the embers. He’d refused food but there were plenty of emptied wineskins. 

“Jon? Are you alright?” Sansa started quietly, pulling up a stool next to him.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. His normally vivid eyes were dull, heavy bags underneath them. She wanted to reach out and stroke his hair, still gorgeous despite its unkempt state, and to whisper soothing words. She did not think that most Kings would like that, but did Jon think himself a King? She did not think he believed it even as they placed a crown on his head, and was certain he felt even less a King now. 

“Can I send for some food then? Perhaps some lamb and potatoes?” she suggested.

“I don’t want anything.”

“Well then perhaps you’re ready to discuss the repairs that need to be made, and the appointments as well,” she said. She hoped the business might distract him.

“I’m sure you can handle it Sansa. You know the Northern lords as well as I do.”

“Yes, but they chose you as their King. You should be making these decisions,” she stated, doing her best to be firm but also encouraging.

Jon laughed, hard and bitter.

“They chose me as their King when they thought I was Ned Stark’s son. How will they feel about a half Targaryen?” he said, his voice dripping with venom.

Sansa clenched her fist underneath her long sleeves. She was willing to soothe Jon’s sadness, but she was not going to drink biters from the cup of the man who wore the crown that was rightfully hers. “They chose you for your skill and your bravery. Do you still have your skill and your bravery?”

He turned in his chair, avoiding her gaze and her question.

“Northmen are proud, and hard. They only trust their own. They won’t follow an outsider.”

“They will follow strength if you show them strength,” she insisted.

“My cause is lost, Sansa. Everything is lost. I don’t know why I’m here. I should be dead.”

“Oh, Jon, my sweet brother,” She put her hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not your brother,” he snapped, pulling away.

“Fine, my dear cousin—” she tried.

“Cousin? That’s even sadder.”

“Damn it, Jon. Stop this right now,” Sansa shouted. She stood. She went to each window, throwing the curtains open. She went to Jon and pulled the furs off of him. His hands went to his face to block the winter’s sunshine.

“I know this is hard. I know what it’s like to have to learn to think of yourself in an entirely different way. But you’re still a Stark. Whether through Ned’s blood or Lyanna’s, you’re a Stark. And we have to be strong right now. There simply isn’t time for you to hide under the covers.”

Jon finally stood and faced her. His face was furious. She braced herself for his rage, but refused to look away. “Do you think this is anything like Baelish parading you around as a bastard? I’ve seen the Others. I’ve fought dead men. I was murdered, and pulled back from death, only to see my brother die and learn that my father lied to me my entire life.” He was shaking as the words poured out of him.

“Yes, exactly, don’t you see? You’re the only one who knows how to fight them! There’s got to be a reason there’s one remaining Targaryen in Westeros! You were brought back for a reason, you were made a king for a reason. We need you. Every man woman and child, we need you. Jon, I need you.” Sansa reached out and grabbed Jon’s shoulders. He looked stunned. His eyes were no longer dull and sad but there was something else there she’d never seen before. Was it a yearning? Had he felt it too?

Sansa kissed him. It wasn’t gentle, or sweet. It was hard, and rough. His breath was sour with stale wine. Still, she desperately clung to his mouth, his shoulders, his body. His hands responded, grabbing her and pulling her to him. They licked and bit at each other’s lips. She buried her face against his neck. “I need you, Jon.”

Jon Snow was reborn in the fires of her hair. He threaded his hands through it, touching it, breathing it. He used it to pull her mouth back to his. He drank from her body and soul.

“I’m the one who needs you, Sansa,” he whispered against her lips. They embraced until their lips were sore and their hearts were aching. They finally pulled apart and straightened their clothes. 

Sansa cleared her throat. “I’ll have the servants draw a bath and send up some supper.”

“Yes, thank you, my lady,” Jon nodded.

“Then, we will meet to discuss the appointments and repairs,” Sansa stated. 

“Of course,” Jon agreed.

“We’ll then have to discuss the terms of our engagement,” she stated, as if she had simply mentioned another appointment.

“Yes, my lady. We’ll make the arrangements as soon as possible.”

They smiled. “I…I look forward to it,” she said. Sansa prepared to leave, turning towards the door.

“Sansa,” Jon stopped her. She turned, “Yes, Your Grace?”

“They will say that I came back to fight the dead. But I came back for you.”


End file.
